A Dance of Death (31 page)

“Do you have any last words for me to pass on?” the elven princess asked. “A final goodbye to your son, perhaps?”

Alyssa winced at the pain from her pulled hair, then gave Laryssa a smile.

“No goodbyes,” she said. “Not yet.”

Zusa leapt from behind one of the trees, and before the other elves could react, her dagger pressed against Laryssa’s throat. All around, elves drew weaponry and reached for bows, but Laryssa cried for them to halt.

“That’s a smart girl,” Zusa whispered into the elf’s ear. “Now let Alyssa go before I start cutting.”

“No,” Laryssa said. Alyssa felt the sword against her throat turn, angling sharper into her flesh. Blood trickled down the blade. “Once she is safely away, you will kill me.”

“I will kill you if she stays. This is not a negotiation.”

Alyssa could feel the tension, so thick it made breathing feel difficult. Zusa’s stealth had been perfect, her plan simple enough, but it seemed Laryssa had no intention of playing along.

“I am not alone,” Zusa cried to the others. She pulled the princess closer, one arm holding her head, the other positioning the dagger. “One false move, Laryssa dies, and you will face the Watcher.”

“You will suffer for this,” Laryssa said. “I am no hostage to be taken. Release me, or Alyssa dies.”

Zusa looked to the elf that held Alyssa.

“If Alyssa dies, I lose my employer. If Laryssa dies, you lose your princess. I wonder who will suffer more when we return to our homes?”

“Do not listen to her,” Laryssa insisted. “We have given in to their fear for far too long!”

Alyssa could sense the uncertainty of her captor. He pulled harder on her hair, but the sword no longer cut into her skin. Zusa’s eyes swept the camp. They were badly outnumbered, and while holding Laryssa kept them from attacking, so far it had not bought her and Alyssa an escape. The threat of fighting Haern seemed to have carried little weight as well.

A far cry made her jump, and pain streaked across her throat, the blade giving her a shallow cut. She wished to turn and look, but could not. Instead, she heard a body drop, and then Haern speak.

“He was to release an arrow,” said the Watcher. “A bad decision.”

Haern on one side, Zusa on the other, with Alyssa caught in the center. Both sides were eager to fight, but neither was willing to risk the death of their hostage. She tried to think of a solution, but could not. Part of her just wanted them to flee, to live. She saw no way for them to escape alive. But she didn’t need to.

“Laryssa!”

She recognized that voice. Storming into the camp came the ambassador, his face livid. He shouted something in elvish, turning and berating many of them at once. Laryssa said something in argument, but Graeven didn’t even let her finish. He turned to Alyssa and bowed.

“Forgive us this horrible travesty,” he said. “I can assure you, these elves do not represent Quellassar in any way.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Zusa said.

“If you wish to live, you must. They will not harm you, but first, you must let Laryssa go.”

Alyssa looked to Zusa, who shrugged. The emerald-eyed elf started to object, but Graeven shouted him down in their language. Again he bowed low.

“Please, Alyssa. You must trust me. There is no other way out of here alive.”

Alyssa swallowed, and praying she made the right decision, she ordered Zusa to let the princess go. Laryssa hurried away, and collapsed in the arms of another elf. Blood seeped from the bandages in her side, the red staining her dress. Meanwhile, the elf holding Alyssa tensed, but Graeven lowered his voice, and spoke with undeniable authority. The blade left her throat, and she felt the pressure on her head end as he released her hair. She accepted Graeven’s offered hand.

“Come with me, all of you,” he said, glancing at Zusa and Haern. “Don’t worry…we won’t be followed.”

The last comment seemed more directed to Laryssa, who openly glared at the ambassador. Zusa slid in beside her, grabbing her hand.

“I am glad to see you well,” she said.

“Me too.”

Haern moved to the other side of her, constantly turning his head so he might watch the elven camp.

“Too easy,” he said, as if in doubt of their escape.

“You’re right,” Graeven said, leading them on a path toward the main road running south into Angelport. “You are only safe in my presence. The rest will hunt you, rest assured on that.”

“How is it you may overrule the demands of a princess?” asked Alyssa.

“Because she herself was ordered to return to Quellassar, and leave all dealings with humans to my discretion. If Laryssa disobeyed, and caused a war, then she might face potential banishment if there were enough uproar about it.”

“Would there be?”

Graeven spun, fast enough all three tensed.

“Make no mistake,” said the elf. “Doing this puts my reputation at great risk. I requested your release under great pressure, and my objections are well known to the rest of our nobility. There are many who believe your death will avert a war, and they question where my loyalties lie. You are safe in my presence, but the moment I am gone, they will take their justice knowing there is little I can do to punish them.”

He turned and continued on.

“Ingram has refused handing you over because he knows the recent riots will be nothing compared to the fury he would face should word reach the commoners. Many of my colleagues in Quellassar have taken a similar hard line, and will march upon Angelport if that’s what it takes to bring their desired justice. Whether you deserve it or not, you’ve become a focal point, a symbol of human aggression against elvenkind. More will die until Ingram regains control of his city, and my own people acknowledge the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” asked Haern.

The ambassador turned and gave him a look Alyssa could not decipher.

“That we are fading,” he said. “Our rule over Dezrel has long ended. Our numbers dwindle, and every day the power of man tightens around our borders. Already one of your kings chased the Dezren elves across the nations, and burned their beloved city to the ground.”

Graeven shook his head.

“One day, those same torches will come for us. I must do all that I can to prevent that, or at the least delay. I will not see those I love perish in such a way. I will not let the tragedy at Dezerea happen again.”

They reached the road, and Alyssa joined Haern in looking behind them.

“You won’t see them,” Graeven said. “But they are following, I assure you. We have little time.”

“There must be something I can do,” Alyssa said. “Some way to prevent all this.”

“There is.” Graeven looked to Angelport. “You disappear. My people will look, of course, and they’ll believe Ingram has you in hiding. Still, that gives me more to work with than if my kind knew for certain you were in his custody. Ingram will do a fine job accusing us of lying in return, since we broke into his dungeon. That alone will be a fine mess to explain. But so long as you remain a mystery, I believe I can keep things from worsening.”

“We need to return to Veldaren,” Haern said, his hands resting on the hilts of his sabers. “Only there will you be safe.”

“No,” Graeven insisted. “You will never make it. They’ll watch the roads, and track you with ease. A dozen arrows would pierce your body long before reaching Veldaren. Come with me to Angelport. I know a place you may hide, and the city walls will delay them long enough for you to disappear. And, if we’re blessed, we might even discover whoever it was that did attack Laryssa.”

Alyssa chewed her lip, and she looked at the other two. Haern shrugged, and Zusa put a hand on her shoulder.

“Do what you think is right,” she said.

Thinking of that tense moment in the camp, and how the ambassador had defused it, she nodded.

“Lead on,” she told Graeven. “And let us pray to whatever gods might listen that we find a way to save us from war.”

Graeven smiled, and he bowed low.

“Of course, milady,” he said. “Follow me.”

A
t the Port and Loan, Warrick Sun met with the last surviving members of the Merchant Lords, taking count of casualties and loss. Their meeting table was overloaded with strong alcohol as they toasted and drank. None cared that it was hardly an hour past sunrise. It was not a time for sobriety.

“I am fortunate enough to have most my wealth forever on the water,” said Warrick, leaning back and resting his hands in his lap. “Madelyn’s mercenaries burned my home, but that is no sore loss. A shame about my paintings, though. Those commissions were not cheap.”

“I’m sure Arren wished he had gotten away so lightly,” Stern said, downing another shot. “You see what they did to his body? Gave him a damn necklace made of his own guts. Fuckers. Glad I gave as good as I got when it comes to killing.”

“That is because you have a demon’s luck,” said Durgo Flynn. “I lost five ships to their fire, and many good crewmen. But I did not have the Wraith fighting to protect my home.”

A stir spread through them, merely at the mentioning of the Wraith’s name.

“Demon’s luck?” asked Stern. “I stumbled upon my brother’s corpse in a bloody alley, and you’d accuse me of a demon’s luck?”

Beside him, Flint Amour shifted uncomfortably.

“We ran,” he said. “Not much we could do. They killed my brothers as well, all of them.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Stern said, rolling his eyes. “Mighty convenient, that.”

Flint flushed and focused on drinking instead of responding.

“There is that strange business, the Wraith’s aid,” Warrick said, scratching at his nose with his wrinkled hands. “He has struck at us before, yet now he helps protect us, despite our ineffective bounty on his head? What game does he play?”

“Well, if it is a game, I’d like to join.” Stern hurled his cup against a wall, just above the head of a servant. “We lost hundreds of thousands of gold pieces’ worth of supplies, homes, plus two of our lords, yet Ingram does nothing. Madelyn’s sitting safe behind her walls, and our lord won’t do a damn thing to bring justice.”

“Justice in Angelport has always been brought about by our hand,” Warrick said, doing his best to be patient. Stern was usually more level-headed, but the loss of his daughter, and now Ulrich, had left him raw and unpredictable. “And we still have many fighting men at our disposal. If we had known of Madelyn’s attack in advance, we would have crushed them at our gates. Alas, she was one step ahead, but we cannot let that happen again. We must remove her as a threat, but how?”

“She’s got too many mercenaries left for us to assault her mansion,” Stern said. “And any attack we make risks bringing the city guard down on our heads. Gods know Ingram would love the excuse.”

“Our riots have left him frightened,” Warrick said. “They served their purpose. One false step, and we will have him supplanted as ruler, the city delivered to us by the hands of its own people. He will not interfere.”

Durgo stood, and he struck the table with an enormous fist. His surprising outburst, contrary to his soft-spoken nature, left Warrick more annoyed than anything.

“We must act the coward no longer,” Durgo said, glaring at all of them. “Damn Ingram, damn Madelyn, damn the whole city. It is time we stopped fearing their reactions, their plans, and did as we pleased. Madelyn needs to die, regardless what Ingram thinks. I say we gather who we have, then attack. We’ll hang her body at the docks, and let every lord and noble see what happens when they oppose us.”

Slow, mocking applause met his speech, and they all turned to see a hooded figure enter the dark room, a grand smile on his face.

“Well spoken,” said the Wraith. “Brave, but stupid, just as I’ve come to expect from you merchants.”

Stern bolted to his feet, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Durgo armed himself as well, though Flint stood there perfectly still. Warrick felt only tired amusement at the attempted grand entrance.

“You,” said Flint, sounding terrified. “How did you get past the guards?”

The Wraith hopped atop the round table, crouching down as he grinned at Flint.

“I killed them, of course.”

“We want no trouble here,” Stern said, tensing. The Wraith shifted his way.

“Strange, given that amusing bounty you placed on my head. Are you still upset about my killing William? His replacement, while young, seems far more competent. I thought you’d be happy for the improvement.”

Warrick knew he’d be furious at such a statement made against his own father, but Flint just sat there looking sick. So much for the bravado, he thought. At least William wouldn’t have pissed his pants staring face to face with a murderer. The others had been happy to see William go, but they had never truly seen William’s strength, his ability to make deals without his pride getting in the way.

“Why are you here?” Warrick asked. “I’m too old for games, and not foolish enough to believe we stand a chance should you wish us dead. Now speak, or draw your blade.”

the Wraith bowed, and Warrick held in his smile. The man wasn’t there to kill, after all. If it came to deals, then who in Angelport was better at making them than him?